We pull into the picnic site at just after ten o'clock, after a few hours in the pubs in Edgware where Mary has been flaunting herself at the males (bending over from the waist to pick up dropped change, exposing her stocking tops and thong; allowing me to finger her in the street outside and be spotted by groups of young men). It is still relatively quiet, only a few cars with single guys, so she orders me into the back and tells me to strip.
All evening, I have been wearing red cami-knickers and a red basque under my clothes, accompanied by black hold-up stockings. Once I am down to this, she tells me to stop and get back in the front. Mary herself is wearing a black basque, skimpy transparent black thong and black fishnet stockings with suspenders under a red mini-skirt and red button jacket. She reclines her seat, wiggles her skirt up, and bids me squat in the footwell and lick her through the front of her knickers, the moisture from my tongue making them even more see-through.
I hear the flare of a match and glance up to see that she has wound down the window and lit a cigarette. She blows smoke in my face and as I blink she pulls down the top of my basque and pinches my left nipple hard between her finger and thumb. Then she blows out the match, tests the heat against her finger tips, and presses it into the exposed tip of my nipple. I gasp at the unexpected heat and jerk backwards. She slaps my cheek with the flat of her hand and sharply commands me to stay still. Then she opens her jacket, pulls down the front of her basque to just below her swelling breasts, lifts my hands to play with them and pushes my face back between her legs, where I continue to lick her long and slow through the brief material.
I hear another car pull into the car park and draw to a halt alongside ours. Mary draws her jacket over her breasts, covering my hands. A car door opens and closes, and a gruff male voice says, "Good evening." Mary returns the greeting, and some small talk follows as they size each other up. From what I can hear from between Mary's thighs, the guy is married but out on his own. I see a shadow as he leans into the car and kisses Mary full on the lips, then my hands are pulled aside as the man reaches into her jacket and gropes her breasts. "Who's he?" he asks.
"Oh, that's Julian. Tonight he's my slave," Mary responds.
"We'll have to put him to the test later, then." This statement fills me with both trepidation and excitement, as I think of what might follow. "Let's get you out in the open."
Mary winds-up the window, and then opens the door. I step out, shivering slightly, not from the cold, but from my exposure in this public place. Mary steps out behind me, locks the door and puts the keys in her jacket pocket. Then we follow the man over towards the trees, where there is a picnic table. We hear other car doors open and close behind us, and glancing back I see a handful of other men also approaching. Mary sits herself down on the table. "Hello guys," she says to the new men joining us, "I'm Mary". They form a semi-circle around the end of the table and start to reach out and stroke her through her clothes. Mary stands and slips off her jacket and skirt, putting them into the rucksack which I only now notice she brought from the car with us. As she sits back down, the men reach into the cups of her basque and pull aside the front of her thong to stick fingers into her dripping pussy.
